


Azula

by Azul4



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Minor Violence, Other, Same universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azul4/pseuds/Azul4
Summary: HatredYou can taste it on your tongue,like black pepper beads,snapping between sharp teeth.A dull, numbing flavor-It cooks slowly,at a lukewarm temperature,bleeding into a lonely broth.It is an empty mealon a hot plate that you claw into your mouth.Again.And Again.And Again.As you starve.My story is ugly.  My story is flawed.My story is broken like the fragments of a poorly written lie.





	1. I think I am insane, coming to terms with myself 91AG

Despite what you may believe, people are not an enigma. Despite poems, despite folk songs, despite all of the romanticised bullshit, people are simple. They are formed mostly by the context of their surroundings. Where they grew up, who they knew. 

When you strip away the context, humans are merely herd animals. So, if you want something done, motivate the group.

There's something comfortable about groups. Something illusive. Elusive. 

My teacher used to say, "Keep your head above the reeds." 

He would say it when I slacked off in class. He meant, "You are privileged, pay attention."

He would say it as we passed the handmaiden's quarters, bustling with whispers and eyes sliding behind fans. He meant, "Do not look down." 

He would say it as I faltered eyes leering down his nose, meaning "You are better than that."

When I was learning to block attacks at around the age of 6. The stable boys used to linger in the adjacent courtyard, snickering as sensei threw me to the ground, over and over. They were older than me, but still boys. 

I lay on the ground winded, tears threatening.

I was furious. After a spar, lying on the ground, the air kicked out of my lungs. I heard peels of laughter drifting over from the monitor stables.

I whipped up into a quick sprint, closing the gap between me and them. Sensei moved one step faster and blocked my path. 

"Keep your head above the reeds" he narrowed his eyes in distaste. He was looking slightly above me, not at me.

I did not shirk. I glared at him. I was not going to ask him to step aside. He would move. I feinted away and kicked back a heel of flames. He dodged and the flame swept on. Passing the courtyard right into two idiotic cheeky faces.

Screams rang out like the cry of war drums. It was fast. I was satisfied. 

I heard boyish shrieks, along with ragged raw sobs. I wondered, what their fathers would say to them later. They should be ashamed. They had plenty of time to dodge. They knew better. They were a disgrace.

I was ushered away by two court ladies. I did not look back. 

"Weeds" I muttered. 

I was shuffled out of my combat uniform and into a white traditional tea ceremony gown. My hair was still pinned in a disheveled braid. Before the ceremony, I was supposed to have it combed back, but my ladies in waiting were disorderly.

"Where's Lela," I asked Hueling. She was always the one to do my hair. At times, she overstepped and would slip small flowers into my hair, as though I were her younger sister. I picked them out the rest of the day. I didn't hate doing that.

"She's..." My handmaid glanced nervously in the direction of the courtyard, "Preoccupied." She spoke in a way that said, "It is your fault, you know it is." I disregarded the comment with a wave. She left unruffled. Hueling, was always so composed. That, I admired. 

But, tea ceremony was the absolute worst. I hated kneeling, I hated tea, and most of all I hated my instructor. He didn't give me bruises, he didn't assign me homework, he simply expected me to sit.  
Quietly.  
For hours.  
Regardless of my compliance, there was always something wrong in the process: not enough room for the tea leaves, a hand pointed North not East, and most of all, I knelt like a man, knees apart, my hands in fists. 

He would prod me like a cow with a bamboo cane "No." until I sat in an unnatural way that appeared natural to him.

I loved to ask with big dumb girl eyes, "But... this is how you sit?"

"I have told you before, you cannot simply copy me."

"I forgot. Oops." 

Every class, I came in and sat as a man.

By the end of class, I 'forgot' the lesson. Be it a silent form of greeting, a way to move unnoticed, or how to pour tea for your husband. I simply, 'couldn't' figure it out...

He never showed it, but I'm sure it truly bothered him. He had earned a reputation for taking the edge out of difficult daughters, like breaking wild horses. 

All proper young ladies had to take his class, but I was the only regular. I excelled in every other discipline except tea ceremony. This looked bad for him and I knew it.

All of the sudden, our lesson was cut right as he was showing me the proper way to present a gift (to your future in laws.) Kneeling, fingers folded together flat. Palms out, like a kind buddha. 

"What is it?" He hissed, offended by the interruption. I drank in his loss of composure. Dumb old grandpa. 

I overheard the words, "His majesty... and Now"

I was guided out of east wing, and towards the throne room. I knew I was in trouble. It was the boys. I was sure of that. I could tell in the way the servers scattered as I walked, leaning into ears, widening eyes. 

I had only wanted to burn their eyebrows off. I was pretty sure I did just that. I stopped at the skin. I thought I did. But, I also wasn't looking after the kick. I could have gotten their eyes. That would suck. I would definitely be punished for that.

The grand hall opened up to a vast chamber. It smelled like old fires and cedar wood. 

I waited at the threshold as was customary. I felt the presence of a tall man step in line beside me. I looked up, it was my father. He did not look down, not even once.

Step forward, a low voice bellowed. 

Father and I began to walk down the long pathway towards the throne. 

The fire lord sat with his hands folded over curled armrests. His fingers like driftwood.

"I think we all know why you have been summoned."

I looked between father and the fire lord. They both spoke with their eyes. The fire lord had a sentence weighing over fathers' head. For once, I couldn't read what was said in looks. 

"I speak for us all, when I say we have a dragon in our midst." 

My mother was descended from avatar Roku. Her blood is referred to as dragon's blood. 

What did he mean? I looked around, and of course, mother wasn't here. 

"I have been receiving reports," he spun his hand in gesture to the room "on our youngest blood."

"And I am pleased."

I blushed, this was high praise. Such praise was not given lightly. 

"As fire lord, I cannot continue to watch the discipline of my most gifted grandchild squandered in-

Feminine airs." He spat with distaste. The fire lord sank into his throne.

"The,

Crown,

Princess...

Will, immediately cease all lessons having to do with tea, artistry, and song. And commence double training in combative arts, tactical planning, math, and foreign affairs."

The word crown was common enough among court men and women rendering the word meaningless. To the people, crown princess means "daughter of king's blood." From the fire lord, "Crown princess" means potential heir to the throne.

"This shall go into effect, immediately.

That is all."

Father and I bowed a deep bow, and began to walk backwards down the hall, always facing the king. As was customary. 

At the end, he turned and began to stride away, as though the summons were an imposition on his work. 

"Wait!" I knew it was inappropriate, but it was the only way to get his attention. He stared daring me, "What."

"The boys, do they see?"

"...No" He answered curtly, and left. 

Maybe, that's how it started. 

The news of the incident spread like wildflowers. 

In a word, everything had changed. I was no longer, sister of Zuko, daughter of Ozai. I was Azula, heir to the throne. The servants who had once bristled at my orders, now scampered like stray dogs. 

What I thought, would be celebrated. Was not. I was alone. More so than I had been before.

"It's fine," I thought. 

"I'm fine," I thought.

But, I was not fine. 

I was 6.


	2. Small Sacrifices 93 AG

In the palace, I was traded between tutors.  My handmaiden, Hueling, monitored my lessons in order to maintain maximum efficiency.  She was the first to discover 30 minutes a day was wasted in greetings between disciple and mentor.  Henceforth, she dissuaded all mentors (except my fire bending instructor) to discontinue pleasantries.  Thirty minutes a day was important.  In 30 minutes, I could read the news, practice my breath, and memorize 5 foreign words.  In one day alone, 30 minutes was nominal, but the effect added up.  Against the rough grain of time, any skill could be sharpened.  

I did not tire.  Strategic breaks were allowed and taken.  I took solace in seconds, I coveted moments.  I held onto them, day by day.  Saving them like small sweets wrapped in paper.  

It could be the way the sun glides through the trees, or the sound of rain at night.  It could be a pause in my step, or a memory of my mother playing the guitar.

It was one breath stolen, and released.   
In an instant, used and tossed aside.  

Back to work.

I could not falter. 

I was a princess, not a prince.  Princesses were fragile, princesses rested on their laurels, princesses wasted time, princesses smiled brightly and wore obscene jewelry.  

From a very young age, I knew I could not, like my mother sit alone, in a room of self pity, hanging as a dried flower hangs on the wall.  

Like most children, I wished I could be the hero of the tale.  I wished I could change the world with a passing whim.  I wanted to be the avatar, specifically avatar Kyoshi.

I both worshipped her and scorned her.  

She was not an idealist, she was a general.  Unlike all of her predecessors, she seized her power, refusing to sit idly upon a ceremonial title.  She fought in the great war, and killed those who opposed her.  Her acuity created an era of peace between kingdoms, 233 years of it.

She changed the nature of warfare.  

But, to this day, her story is a joke.  It is a comedy about Chin the Conqueror.  It is famously depicted by a caricature of Chin, a man of short stature, stripped naked by Avatar Kyoshi's airbending.  

This fable originates from the fact that Kyoshi stripped the oppositions' campsites.  She stripped them of their resources.  

In the night, she would monotonously strike the enemy camps with strong gales of wind.  They could not pitch their tents.  They could not sleep through the noise.  They could not keep their fires aflame and their own weapons flew through the air, like shrapnel. 

Haggard and distraught, the soldiers morale was 'stripped' camp by camp.  

Every night,

For a year.  

Each day, Chin's army marched.  Each night they were blown back, or pushed back, or washed back.

Chin the conqueror created laughable countermeasures, such as forming earthen huts, strapping down cavalry, and creating an elaborate harness system where to keep the units intac. Such measures were his undoing. 

Unsettled by warfare with a human god, the men deserted one by one.  In the final push, Chin faced Kiyoshi on Shi Rah straight; a narrow road between the mainland and Shi Rah Peninsula.  She defended the village on the outcrop.  Blocking the way of the straggling campaign.  

It was in the full light of day sliced the earth with her fans and carved out an island (now known as Kyoshi.)  Of course, this feat required earth, water, and air bending in conjunction.  But it is speculated, she used only the wind itself.  

Such is the strength of the avatar, creator and breaker of kingdoms.  

The battle of Shi Rah Straight could have been the most foolish battle in mainland history, or the most clever.  

It is a tale of psychological warfare.  Not the first of its kind, but the most ingenious.

I kept these sentiments to myself.  As a princess of the fire nation, I could not speak so freely.  Such notions bordered on treason.  

I did not wish to bend air, earth, or water.  I would not simply be known for the title "princess."  I would earn my place in the history books as "Lord Azula, General of the United Fire's Republic."

Most of all, I would not be, a mere

 

joke.


	3. Ursa 62-83 AG

Ursa

My mother, Mina, was a stoic woman. She filled her silence with strength.

Regardless of her good nature, I came into the world screaming

Each morning, my mother ascended a mountain to visit my grandfather's shrine, the temple of Avatar Roku. My grandfather was dear friends with the great Fire Lord, Sozin. After the Avatar's death, Sozin built a temple in his memory to celebrate his service to the fire nation. Only years later, his widow (my grandmother) fell ill with pneumonia. It was an unusually cold December. In that cold winter, my grandmother struggled to maintain her weight. She shrank until she was nothing, I'm told.

My mother buried her near the shrine. My mother was only 18.

At the cusp of the mountains' spine, was the best view of Hira'a. From here, one could see our small clay homes sagging into the rocky shore. One could watch the sunrise over the sea, and the migration of dragons each year. Exceedingly rare, it was auspicious to see one in flight. On that mountain, my mother saw dozens. I still, have never seen one.

In spring, she brought wild iris. In summer, she brought sweet wine. In fall she brought a guitar, and she'd sing of the leaves turning orange. She had the most beautiful voice in the world. But, she kept to herself. At the foot of the shrine, she ate, watching the sun rise off the eastern sea sea. It was there, that time stood still.

Nothing could stop her from her daily hikes, not the weather, not my father, and not even myself.

When she was pregnant with me, she walked the same path on the ridge of the hill, over boulders and treacherous drops. My father was beside himself with worry, but every day she continued up saying, "The baby will be born strong."

His only choice in the matter was to trick her or join her, and he tried to keep her at home. He stole her shoes and she walked in sandals. He made her larger and larger breakfasts to lull her back to sleep. He would set out milk to sour. He released our small herd of goats. He tried and he tried until one day, she was simply too tired to walk. She lay bedridden for 7 days.

I was born a week later. Like a bolt of lightning, I shook and wailed. Nothing could soothe me. I was one of those children born into the world "with their eyes wide open" as mother would put it. I fussed and whined and never slept until one day my mother strapped me to her back and began to hike up the mountain.

My father was fed up with the both of us, too tired to hold her back. He simply let her go.

I grew, as she continued to march an endless pilgrimage, even as her joints wore tired and her steps grew small. I grew until, I was too heavy a burden to carry, but still too young to walk.

I always admired my mom, but I never truly understood her. There was something wild in the set of her shoulders, in her ceaseless call to the hills. I began to worry when she left us, that she'd vanish into the morning mist, like an apparition of sorts. She obviously did not. After returning home from the temple, she was always a little bit different.

She and my father lived simple lives. They bought what was necessary and made the rest.

I remember we preserved everything. We had a root cellar as large as our home, packed with rows of clay pots holding pickled vegetables, jams, wildflowers, elixirs, and wines. The smell of fermenting cabbage filled my house like an unwelcome guest. I hated my mother for that.

As a girl, I complained that I was sick of egg porridge with pickles, that we smelled the same as the fishermen (of toil and dried fish.) I wanted to smell of nothing.

In truth, I wanted to smell of flowers, and wear rouge on my lips like the city girls. I wanted the boys at my school to stop calling me "Ursa the Fish" daughter of "Mina the Witch."

That year, my mother made a balm of beetroot juice, a small tin of lip stain for my birthday. It smelled like wild iris (the most expensive perfume.) It never changed how I smelled, but in the very least I felt confident.

My father was the magistrate of Hira'a, but you would never know at first glance. He was a kind man, in earnest. He softened my mother like the sea softens broken bottles into sea glass. His position was a royal appointment, but we lived in a rural home. He worked in a modest office and took no special allowance. He worked hard, and spoke nothing of it. In that way, my parents were alike.

They are the type of people shaped by their service. They are the type of people who make sacrifices without expecting reparation. Even the boys who called me "Ursa the Fish," would come to my mother asking for a tonic that settled stomachs, or cured headaches, or healed scrapes. They would run home with jars in their arms.

As the years moved on, nothing changed but myself. Our town still had the same people, same shops, and same houses. But, I had grown tired of it all. I had outgrown my community, and began to scheme of a plan, one that would take me to Hira'a city at least.

I would be an actress.

Every girl in my school wanted to be an actress, but I felt like I was special. I had something, I just couldn't place, but I knew I had a chance.

When I told my parents of my intentions, they did not understand.

"Like a courtesan!?" My father balked.

"No dad, not like a courtesan," I shook my head in dismay.

"You are not going to maintain the temple," he asked a tenderly.

"No," I said it, and let it fall flat.

My mother held her tongue and merely nodded, and that is how it was.

That special thing that I thought I had, was only perseverance. In my final year of school, I auditioned for a play in Hira'a theater. I did not make the cut. So, I begged to help out behind the stage. I hemmed costumes, queued props, and fixed makeup. I cleaned floors, I scrubbed bathrooms, and sold tickets. I worked unpaid for a year.

When I graduated from school, I was offered my first paycheck. I rented a room in the city, from a single mother with five children. I paid close to nothing in rent. I babysat the children each day. For the theater, I worked mostly nights.

I got my first role that spring because the director liked my grit. He figured an actor that showed up 30 minutes early, was an actor who'd learn their lines. I'm proud to say, I proved him right.

I was punctual, and not half bad. He cast me again the next summer. This time, I was a side character, a step up from the ensemble role (background character.) I learned my lines fast, listened to direction, and never had a qualm about anything. You think that would be more common, but unfortunately it was an asset.

I climbed slowly, but steadily up the ranks, until I finally received lead in a promising play, "Love Amongst the Dragons." It was a romance, but a tragic one. The moment I read the script I knew it'd be big. It was. I invited my parents to the city, to see the play performed.

I often wondered what my parents thought of me, wearing makeup and singing for applause. I couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. I abandoned them to chase after my dream. I thought of my mother walking up the mountain, and I vowed to visit home soon.

What would I do as they aged? My mother wouldn't walk forever. What would I do when she grew brittle and small?

I would go home

I knew the answer, it was always there, just as my home would always be on the foot of that cliff, where the water is dark and the winters are cold.

Until then, I relented, I would live my dream. I would live my dream so that when I returned, I could say "I did it, and now I am home." I think that would make me feel whole.

My train of thought was interrupted, "Excuse me miss, are you in this play?"

"Yes," I said looking around. I was early to the first reading, but I was surely in the right spot.

"My name's Ikem, I'm the emperor"

"I thought his name was Azulon."

"What? Oh, the fire lord?"

"I guess that would make me the empress."

His mouth twisted into a wry smile.

"I guess that makes you my wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's' Note: Thank you so much for reading this chapter. I have written and rewritten "Ursa" close to 6 times now because I had so much trouble setting the tone for her character. Like most stories, the beginning is so difficult. I wanted to keep her plot subtle, but interesting. This story will follow the duel plot lines, of Ursa and Azula. I find their relationship to be the most interesting, because it is so human and flawed. I find each character to be separately interesting and I want to build on their parallels. Anyhow, I sincerely apologize for my blatant disregard of conventional grammar. I use grammar as a tool to insert pauses, breaks, and emotion. Nonetheless, I'm sure there are serious errors (please let me know in the comments!) I am a student and my schedule's a mess, but I'd love to fix what I can. It's far from perfect, but I hope you like it :D
> 
> Stay in tune for next week's update. If you liked it don't forget to subscribe!
> 
> -Azul4


End file.
